


Just Breathe

by Eliza_Peggy_Angelica



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr is So Done, Alex is a hot mess, Alexander Hamilton: Confused but also trying his best, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Buckle up kids, Dolley is the wing woman we all need, Fluff, Frances Laurens: So sick of this shit, Grief/Mourning, Human Disaster John Laurens, Idiots in Love, Is it mutual? Read to find out, John Laurens: Trying his best, John needs to stop and make better life choices, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, To Whomever is reading this: I hope you have a nice day, With everyone but mostly Alex, it’s gonna be a wild ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27017125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza_Peggy_Angelica/pseuds/Eliza_Peggy_Angelica
Summary: John Laurens is just trying to live his best life, okay? He’s made his fair share of bad decisions and is now just looking forward to relaxing... a bit.However, that’s all thrown out the window when a short, angry fourteen year old who wants nothing to do with him is suddenly thrust into his care.Now what?(Or, John Laurens suddenly finds out that he has a daughter and now has to juggle that along with the strange but intriguing social worker he keeps running into.)
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 17
Kudos: 55





	1. In Which Bad Decisions Come Back to Bite John in the Ass

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> (Note: This probably a very inaccurate portrayal of the Pennsylvania foster system, but— in my defense— the only lawyer I know specializes in water not family. However, I did try.)

“You’re absolutely _positive_ it’s yours?” Lafayette hissed, his eyes flitting to John’s abandoned phone as if it was going to jump out and bite him. “Abso _lutely_ positive?”

John rolled his eyes, but he didn’t speak, still sorting his thoughts out. God, he felt as if he was going to be sick. Or maybe he was going to faint. Or scream.

A million thoughts were running through his head at once, but the main one was the somewhat incomprehensible act that John Laurens had a _child._

Well, not a child, a teen, but his point still stood.

“Oh my god…” John buried his face in his hands as the reality of the situation finally hit him like a slap to the face. “Oh my god, oh my god.”

Lafayette awkwardly patted his shoulder. “Okay, can I ask a question or are you gonna flip out on me?”

John begrudgingly raised his face from his hands and narrowed his eyes at Lafayette. “Sure. What?”

Lafayette fidgeted with the hem of his shirt and John wanted nothing more than for him to just spit it out. Finally, Lafayette sighed. “How did you really not know that you had a kid?”

John groaned loudly, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t fucking know! I barely even remember that night.”

Immediately, John felt bad for snapping at Lafayette— it wasn’t as if this was his fault— but he could barely comprehend what was going on regardless. 

He barely even remembered that night, as important as it apparently was. 

He was seventeen and stupid, trying to prove a point to himself that he could be straight. So, when Martha Manning suddenly crawled onto his lap and kissed him on their date, John just went along with it.

After all, he was a month from going into college and had already decided that he wasn’t going to be the loser that was a virgin upon entering college.

In the end, it wasn’t a _bad_ first time, as first times went. It was awkward and John was almost certain from that moment on that he was gay, but it didn’t stand out in his memories too much.

Evidently, it should’ve.

“I just…” John rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t get why she didn’t _tell_ me. I mean, I know she went to school in Europe and I went up to Pittsburgh, but I would’ve—”

John cut off. What exactly would he have done? He was broke as hell, and he and his father had already been on unstable footing on account of John’s sexuality and career choices, so it wasn’t as if he’d have been jumping to help them.

Okay, so maybe Martha did make the right choice by just raising the baby on her own.

“When did Martha even come back to the states?” John mused out loud, staring at the back of his hands.

Lafayette quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket, typing away like his life depended on it. Then, “Was Martha brown haired and brown eyed?”

John racked his brains for a moment before deducing that that certainly sounded right. He voiced that to Lafayette, who hummed thoughtfully, continuing to type.

While Lafayette did whatever it was that he was doing, John picked up his own phone with shaking hands, opening the call app, just to check that that call had _actually_ happened.

And, sure, enough, the number was right at the top, mocking John in its innocence. Before John could maybe start crying, Lafayette thrust his own phone in John’s face.

It took John a moment to register what he was looking at, but he quickly identified it as Martha Manning’s Instagram, and, yeah, looking at it, that was definitely her.

John took the phone from Lafayette and began scrolling absentmindedly as Lafayette chattered away.

“Okay, so Martha did end up going to London, where Frances was born in January, fourteen years ago. She moved to South Carolina just last year.”

John blinked absently, wondering, not for the first time, how Lafayette managed to know everything about everyone. “How did you get all that? You were only looking at your phone for like five minutes.”

Lafayette rolled his eyes, as if John was an idiot for asking, snatching his phone up and messing with it for a moment. When it was handed back to John, he was looking at a post of Martha’s, dated August of the previous year.

There was a picture of a bunch of moving boxes, with the words: _So happy to be home in SC!_ under it.

John remained staring at the photo for a long moment, even though it didn’t show anything except a stack of boxes sitting on tile floors.

“Oh god.” John practically shoved the phone into Lafayette’s hands and rested his head over his folded arms, trying to calm the pounding of his head.

“I’ll get you aspirin,” Lafayette mumbled, and John watched as he shuffled into the kitchen, leaving John to sort out the mess in his head.

So, he was a parent to a kid. Well, not a kid, a fourteen year old girl named Frances. John was expected to take care of a girl who he hadn’t even known existed about an hour before.

John looked around his shabby apartment, never more thankful than in that moment that he’d splurged on a two bedroom apartment.

John dropped his head into his hands. “Jesus fuck,” he cursed. He wasn’t ready for this, to be a parent.

John had other things to worry about; he didn’t have time to take care of a whole other person, even if said person was technically old enough that he didn’t have to constantly supervise them.

John glanced back at his phone, thinking of the sweet woman on the phone’s words— he thought her name was Eliza.

_Well, Mr. Laurens, we can give you a few days to decide if you want to take her in, but if you don’t, she’ll go into the system._

John had frozen at that. Now, he had no firsthand experience of the foster care system, but he knew Lafayette had been in a group home for a few weeks before being sent to the Washington’s, and he had relayed to John the horror stories he’d heard. 

The thought of his daughter being subjected to that— any child, really— was enough to have him tell Eliza that he’d think about it.

He glanced at the hurriedly written down phone number— different from the one that had called him for some reason.

Calling that number would change not only his life, but a young girl’s life as well, probably forever.

But no pressure or anything.

He was broken from his thoughts by Lafayette re-entering the room, holding a tray with a cup of tea, some crackers, and two aspirin wrapped in a napkin on it.

“Here.” Lafayette said softly, setting the tray down on the coffee table. 

John examined the tray skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “Do I seriously not have anything stronger than tea?”

Lafayette gave John a flat look. “John, you can drink later. Now? You need to be sober so you can decide what to do.”

John let out a surprised laugh. “Lafayette, I need more than a day to think. Now, I want to get drunk. Are you with me, or against me?”

Lafayette sighed loudly— disappointment radiating off of him in waves— before walking into the kitchen.

When he re-emerged, he was holding a bottle of scotch.

John grinned widely, grabbing it and taking a long sip, relishing the sting as the copper liquid went down his throat.

Lafayette was a good friend.

The next day, John was regretting his decision to drink. Lafayette had wisely suggested that he take the day off, but John blatantly ignored him, although it was tempting.

Not only did he need to get out of the house, but if— _if_ — he was going to take Frances in, he probably shouldn’t be skipping work because of a hangover, even if he’d gotten drunk for a pretty acceptable eason.

Upon entering the back room, his co-worker, Dolley, let out a low whistle. “No offense, Laurens, but you look like shit.”

John rolled his eyes, setting down his jacket and wallet. “Dolley, you really know how to flatter a guy.”

Dolley patted John’s shoulder. “I know. Now, what happened to you?”

John huffed, shrugging her arm off of his shoulder. “I’ve gotta start my shift. I’ll tell you at lunch.”

Before Dolley could object, John dashed out of the room, hearing Dolley’s call of, “Go save some kid’s bunny, John!” as the door swung shut behind him.

The four hours between the start of John’s shift and lunch seemed to pass by even slower than they usually did.

Not only was John incredibly hungry from skipping breakfast, but every time he so much as looked at a teen or little girl, he thought of Frances.

Did she look more like John or Martha? Did she like animals and science too? 

When twelve thirty finally rolled around, John practically sprinted to the, thankfully, empty break room.

He collapsed into a chair, remembering that he hadn’t packed lunch.

“Shit.” John smacked his head against the table as the door opened behind him and Dolley entered the room, a smile on her face.

John watched as Dolley grabbed a brown paper bag and pulled out the contents, throwing a wrapped tuna sandwich at John.

Just as John opened his mouth to protest, Dolley slid a soda over to him. “Shut up. You look like hell and I have lime popcorn, so I’m ready for the drama.”

John glared at Dolley, although there was no heat behind it.

“Okay, spill.” Dolley jumped up, throwing her bag of popcorn into the microwave and turning to face John, her arms crossed over her chest.

John took a bite of his sandwich, chewing contemplatively. “Dolley, I have a kid,” he blurted out.

Dolley’s eyes widened comically. “Wait…” She closed her mouth and rubbed her temples. “What?”

John slumped down in his seat, taking a sip of cola and a bite of his sandwich. “Okay, so you know how I’m super gay?”

Dolley narrowed her eyes in confusion. “All of Philadelphia knows that, John, but yeah?”

John nodded. “So, when I was a senior in high school, like a month before I was set to go to college, I decided to have sex.” 

Dolley opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off by the beeping of the microwave. As she retrieved her popcorn, John continued.

“I know.” He shook his head. _“Anyways,_ I also wanted to prove to myself that I was straight. Obviously, I’m not and that night just proved it. So I went off to college at least knowing what my sexuality was— if not confident in it— and I never thought of that night again.”

Dolley placed a piece of popcorn in her mouth, swallowing slowly. “I have a feeling this gets worse?”

John didn’t respond to that, instead continuing to tell the story. “I got a call yesterday that Martha, the girl, had died and left behind a daughter named Frances.” John took a sip of his soda, wishing more than anything that it was whiskey. “Apparently, I’m listed as the father on the birth certificate.”

After a long moment of silence that seemed to stretch into eternity, Dolley breathed out heavily. “Wow. I… I guess that’s a good reason to get drunk.”

John huffed. “Yeah.”

“Well, what are you gonna do?” Dolley took a handful of popcorn. “She’ll go to the foster system if you don’t take her in.”

John groaned loudly. “I know!” he snapped. Immediately, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry. I just… I don’t know. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Dolley shrugged. “Well, how long do you have to make up your mind?”

“A few days.”

Dolley reached over to pat John’s hand. “I’m sorry that you have to make this decision, John.”

John was saved from answering when a coworker of theirs, Peggy, entered the room, asking, “How’s it going, John?”

Dolley exchanged a look with John, as if asking for permission. John nodded and Dolley turned around in her chair to face Peggy.

“Well, Peggy, John here just found out that he has a daughter that he didn’t know about.”

Peggy stilled in her movements, slowly turning around. “Wait, what’s the kids name?”

John narrowed his eyes, glancing at Dolley, who looked just as confused as he felt. “Um… Frances?”

Peggy’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, my sister talked to you yesterday. Elizabeth Schuyler?”

John almost dropped his sandwich. 

Dolley was the one to finally say what they were all thinking. “Oh shit.”

Peggy pulled up a chair and sat down, the cup of noodles she’d pulled out abandoned. “Yeah. I met Frances yesterday while I was visiting Bets. Sweet girl.”

John didn’t say anything, although there were a million things we wanted to say but couldn’t seem to get past his lips. He wanted to ask what she was like, if she was okay, how Martha had died.

Instead, he asked, “Wait, so Eliza’s Frances’ social worker?”

Peggy shook her head. “Nah. Eliza was just holding down the fort until Frances’ actual social worker came. The actual social worker is some guy named Alexander Hamilton.”

“Oh.” John said. _Well, that explained the other number._

Everyone in the room was silent for a long moment until Peggy smacked her lips and spoke up. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” John ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know at all.”

Two days later, John picked up his phone with shaking fingers, reminding himself to breathe, and failing to do so.

Frankly, John had no idea what he was doing, but Dolley and Lafayette, who he had brought in for emotional support, were watching him closely and each were sending him a thumbs up as he picked up the blue post-it-note with the hastily written number on it, so at least he wasn’t completely alone in this.

 _I can do this,_ John reminded himself, unlocking his phone. 

John slowly dialed the number, raising the phone to his ear. He only realized that six in the morning probably wasn’t the best time to call when the phone had already begun to ring, but, before he could hang up and call again later, the rings stopped and someone spoke up.

“Alexander Hamilton from the Philadelphia Department of Social Services. How can I help you?”

John took a deep breath in. He could feel his friends watching him, and he already regretted the decision to invite them.

“Um… it’s John Laurens? For my— my daughter, Frances?” John winced as his voice cracked obviously.

“Oh!” Hamilton exclaimed. “Yes. Right… yes. So, I assume you’re calling me with a decision on what you’re going to do.”

John nodded, then realized that Hamilton couldn’t see him doing that. “Uh, yeah. So, I just have to ask, there’s really no one else who can watch her?”

Hamilton was silent for a moment, and John could hear the distant sound of paper being shuffled. “No, she doesn’t. I mean, technically she has distant cousins, but they’re in France.”

John sighed. “Okay, then I’ll take her in.”

Hamilton hummed on the other line. “Great. So, when can I schedule a housing check?”

John sputtered. “A what?”

“A housing check,” Hamilton repeated, obviously annoyed and exasperated, causing John to feel at least a _little_ bad. But not too much. “We have to make sure that you can take care of Frances and that your living situation reflects that.”

“Okay.” John grabbed his calendar, flipping through it. “I can do it tomorrow, Thursday. I get off my shift at nine a.m., so… ten?”

Hamilton was quiet again for a moment before answering. “Okay, that works. Your address?”

John gave him his address, his stomach twisting into knots as he realized what exactly he was doing. 

“Okay then, Mr. Laurens,” Hamilton interrupted John’s thoughts. “I’ll see you at ten.”

“Uh huh. Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

The phone disconnected and John allowed it to slip from his fingers and drop onto the couch. “Oh dear god.”

“You did it!” Dolley cheered, clapping John’s back. “Now, this was fun, but I’ve got to go if I want to be at my shift on time. Chao.”

Dolled hurried out the front door, her purse slapping her hip as she did. Lafayette slowly sat down next to John. 

“I just wanted to say that this is brave of you,” he said, wrapping his arm around John’s shoulder. “Really. You’re a good man, John Laurens.”

John ducked out of Lafayette’s half embrace and pretended that his friend’s reassurance didn’t mean as much to John as it really did.

Thankfully, Lafayette played along, allowing John to just not acknowledge it and instead ask Lafayette what he wanted to order for breakfast.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing in the world to set a life altering interview at ten in the morning, right after a twelve hour shift, but John had never claimed even once that he made good decisions.

John was practically running around the apartment— struggling to pull on a pair of jeans and straighten his bed at the same time— when there were three knocks at the door.

The moment of reckoning had come. 

John pulled up his pants and ran his hands through the mess of curls that was his hair as he threw open the door, revealing Mr. Alexander Hamilton on the other side.

John was surprised, to say the least. Not only was Hamilton obviously not a forty year old man— which was what John had been envisioning in his head up until this moment— but he was _attractive._

The second thing John noticed was Hamilton’s bright, violet eyes. More specifically, the intensity in the gaze.

It made John want to fidget, and he wondered why Hamilton hadn’t decided to be a teacher. He knew that if younger John had been subjected to that intense gaze, he would’ve been a lot better behaved in class than he was.

“John Laurens, I presume?” Hamilton asked, breaking John from his reverie.

“Yeah?” John wasn’t why he sounded so uncertain. “Yeah,” he amended, trying to sound more certain.

He _was_ John Laurens, after all, even if he didn’t exactly want to be at that exact moment.

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. John silently cursed himself, stepping aside to allow Hamilton entrance into his apartment.

Hamilton’s eyes flitted around the apartment before he pulled a clipboard and pen out of the messenger bag slung across his chest.

“You… uh…” John gestured to the bag. “You can set that down if you want.”

Hamilton furrowed his eyebrows and slowly set the bag down, hanging it over the back of a chair at John’s small dining table. “Thank you.”

John swayed slightly, struggling to find something to say. The awkwardness was cut short by Hamilton brushing past him into the kitchen, clicking his pen.

John already felt sick, and watching Hamilton scribble furiously on his clipboard— God only knew what he was writing— certainly didn’t help.

John fidgeted with his sleeves as he followed Hamilton to each room, occasionally directing him on where a certain room was.

When they finally made it back to the hallway by the kitchen, Hamilton swirled around, that intense gaze once more directed at John.

“So, Mr. Laurens, I have a few questions.” He wrote something down before clicking his pen twice. “Okay?”

John nodded. “Do you mind if we sit?” Immediately, John scoffed at himself. This was _his_ apartment, why was he asking for permission?

Although, then again, he wasn’t actively trying to piss off the man in front of him. Not to mention, John was a good, courteous southern gentleman.

Hamilton gave him a curious look but he nodded, sitting down at the very edge of John’s couch, his back ramrod straight.

John had barely sat down before Hamilton was talking. “Yearly salary?”

“Seventy five thousand dollars a year.”

Hamilton clicked his tongue. “Relationship status?”

John froze. _What?_ “Um… single.” _Painfully,_ he added mentally. “Why?”

Hamilton continued to write as he spoke. “We need to know if you’ll be co-parenting, or if anyone else will play a huge part in the child’s life.” He waved his hand. “Moving on.”

And on they went. From then on, it was a very basic line of questioning until Hamilton exhaled loudly. “Now, I have to ask, do you really want to do this?”

John narrowed his eyes, despite the fact that he still wasn’t sure. He wondered if Hamilton had somehow sensed that. “Excuse me?” 

Hamilton set his pen down, making eye contact with John for the first time since he’d first arrived. “This is unsolicited, but I need to know.” Hamilton tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Because being a parent isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. You’ll have to dedicate your _life_ to this child, no backing out.”

Hamilton picked his pen back up again, but he didn’t write with it. He just held it. “Frances is a good kid, from what I’ve seen. I don’t want to see her thrust into the system. So, if you say yes now, for good, you’re committing to this. You can’t just decide one day that you can’t do this.” Hamilton’s voice remained level as he spoke, but John didn’t miss the stoked fire in his eyes. “Because _no_ child deserves to be abandoned.”

Hamilton’s gaze grew distant for a moment before he seemed to snap out of it, shaking his head. “I trust you understand?”

John nodded. “Yeah. I…” He wrung his hands out, fumbling with the skin around his nails. “I want to do this. I don’t want Frances to end up in the system.”

Hamilton seemed to examine him for a moment, as if searching for something. Evidently, he got his answer as he stood up, but whether it was good or bad John didn’t know.

It was only as Hamilton was packing up that John got the courage to ask the question at the forefront of his mind.

“Um… how did Martha die?”

Hamilton continued packing up, not looking at John as he spoke. “Car accident.” He closed his bag. “The other driver wasn’t paying attention. Martha died on impact.”

John blinked stupidly, unable to think of what to say. He suddenly thought of his own mother, who hadn’t had the luxury of a quick end, and he was hit with a pang of bitterness at the unjustness of the world.

“Was… Was Frances in the car?”

Hamilton nodded. “Yeah. She’s physically okay, before you ask. She was in the backseat.”

John didn’t say anything else until Hamilton stuck his hand out for John to take, which he did. “Well, Mr. Laurens, I can bring Frances over Monday. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” John muttered, realizing that in about three days, there was going to be a miniature adult here. One that John was in charge of taking care of.

Dear god, what was he _doing?_

“I’ll call you. Good day, Mr. Laurens.” Hamilton waved at John once before leaving the apartment, the door shutting behind him with a click.

John stared and stared at the closed door for a long while, unable to make himself move.

What exactly had he gotten himself into?


	2. In Which John Really Has No Idea What He’s Doing and Frances is Unimpressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> (And, self plug, if you feel so inclined, please check me out on Tumblr at @lessnearthesun . I’d really appreciate it!)

The next two days seemed to pass by much too fast, and, before John knew it, it was Monday and Alexander Hamilton was calling him in the middle of his lunch.

Dolley and Peggy glanced at the phone as John picked up it up, his hands shaking uncontrollably. “Um… hello?”

“It’s Alexander Hamilton,” Hamilton said. “Good afternoon, Mr. Laurens.”

Dolley gave John a confused look, mouthing something that John was too stressed to comprehend. “Hello, Mr. Hamilton,” John said pointedly, causing Dolley and Peggy’s eyes to widen in recognition. “What is it?”

“I wanted to know what time you want me to drop Frances off,” Hamilton responded, and John’s heart seemed to stutter to a stop when he heard a female voice saying something in the background, followed by Hamilton mumbling to someone he called Frances.

The very knowledge that it was John’s _daughter_ that Hamilton was speaking to was enough to cause him to practically collapse into a chair.

Luckily, right as Peggy opened her mouth to speak, Hamilton’s voice drifted over the line, distant but discernible.

“How does four thirty sound, Mr. Laurens?” 

John nodded absently, his head still spinning. “Yeah… that… yeah, sounds fine.”

Hamilton hummed on the other line, and John couldn’t help the feeling that he was being judged, which he probably was.

_Great fucking job, Laurens._

“Okay,” Hamilton exclaimed and John nearly jumped out of his skin. “We’ll see you at four thirty.”

“See you.” John hung up and the phone fell to the floor, slipping from his fingers of its own accord. Good lord, John felt like he was going to faint.

In only a few hours, his daughter— the daughter he’d never met— was going to be at John’s home, where John would be expected to watch over her.

Idly, John wondered how he hadn’t quite grasped that concept yet.

“Woah, John, you okay?” John blinked, his eyes refocusing, and he leaned back upon seeing Peggy’s nose barely an inch from his.

“Jesus.” John gently pushed her away. “What the hell?”

Peggy shrugged. “My methods may be unorthodox, but I get shit done. And, besides, you spaced out for a second there.”

Dolley nodded from where she stood beside the microwave. “Yeah. You okay, John?”

John nodded, despite the fact that he pretty obviously wasn’t. “Yeah, I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

Dolley gave him an unimpressed look. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a really awful liar? What’s up?”

Dolley pulled up a chair, Peggy following suit. John sighed, glaring at them. “Frances is coming over today at four thirty, and I still haven’t come to terms with whatever the hell I’m doing yet.”

Peggy exhaled deeply, taking one of John’s carrots. “Yikes. Well, I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Dolley gestured to Peggy, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah, she’s right. It’ll be okay, John. I mean, at least you’re not stuck with a baby. Teens are easier.”

John shook his head, running his hands over his face. “There’s no level of how easy this is, Dolley.” He allowed his head to fall back. “I’m so screwed.”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “With that attitude, yeah, you are.” She leaned over to grab John’s hand. “It’s gonna be okay. Besides, you’re not alone. You have your family.”

Despite the comfort Peggy meant for her words to have, John felt another wave of nausea hit him. Oh god, his _family._

Patsy was going to be pissed, John couldn’t even imagine the lecture she was going to give him, and his father… 

John had never had the best relationship with the man, but, despite their differing opinions, he still loved him and didn’t want to ostracize himself from his family.

John let out a soul wrenching groan, resting his forehead on the cool wood of the break room table. “My family is going to be so pissed.”

Dolley patted John’s back. “I mean, you can always just point out that you _didn’t know_ you had a kid until about a week ago.”

“Yeah.” John squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could shut the world out. “God, this is a shit show.”

Peggy let out a clipped laugh. “Well, we’re here for you.”

John looked up at Dolley and Peggy, who were both smiling encouragingly at him.

At least John could take comfort in that; the fact that he wasn’t alone.

At four in the afternoon, John trudged home, collapsing first onto his couch. 

_Thirty minutes until his life changed forever._ John sighed into the yellow fabric of his couch. _His last half hour as a man with only a few responsibilities._

And didn’t that just suck? Because, the one time he’d _really_ need it, John couldn’t even go to a bar and get blackout drunk because he had a kid to watch.

John tried to push away the thoughts reminding him that he wasn’t ready for this, not in the slightest, in favor of closing his eyes and trying to sleep.

Unfortunately, sleep did not find him, but he did successfully kill time as, after what seemed to be only a few minutes, there was a knock at his door.

_Shit._

John rolled his shoulders and jumped up, throwing open his front door before he could lose his nerve.

On the other side stood Mr. Hamilton, and, a little ways away, a short girl with a hoodie pulled over her head, shielding her face from John’s view.

“Come in, come in.” John stepped aside, watching as Hamilton beckoned for the girl— probably Frances— to come, which she did.

John closed the door behind them, turning around and coming face to face with Frances… his daughter.

She quickly averted her eyes, but it suddenly hit John that this was happening. Really happening.

“Mr. Laurens, it’s nice to see you again,” Hamilton said, louder than necessary. “I trust you’ve had a good day.”

John laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, it was great.”

Hamilton hummed, but John didn’t miss the small quirk of his lips as he gently nudged Frances, John’s _daughter,_ forward, allowing John to get a good look at her.

Frances was undeniably the child of John Laurens, but other than the curls and freckles, she was pretty much all Martha.

And, looking at Frances, John suddenly felt seventeen again, looking into Martha Manning’s eyes.

“Hi,” John breathed, staring at Frances, his daughter. The girl who was no longer a distant piece of knowledge, something John knew existed but could ignore, but here and alive. 

“Hello, Mr. Laurens,” Frances grumbled, glaring daggers into her worn high tops. 

“You, uh, you can call me John.” John rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. Was this meeting supposed to be _this_ awkward?

“Okay.” Frances’ lips barely moved and only then did John notice the single tear slipping down her cheek.

John, being the emotionally constipated man he was, didn’t comment on it, but he didn’t feel too bad about it. He figured Frances would’ve been more upset had he said something.

No one in the room spoke until John cleared his throat, gesturing down the hallway. “Your room’s the one at the far end.”

Frances nodded, turning around and throwing her arms around Hamilton’s back. Hamilton stumbled slightly, awkwardly patting Frances on the back.

“Bye,” she murmured, scampering away down the hall.

John watched her go, with something like fear twisting in his insides. What was he thinking? She didn’t seem to want _anything_ to do with him.

Although, then again, in about a week, Frances had lost her mom, moved over six hundred miles, and was told that she was going to be staying with her father, whom she had never even met in her fourteen years of life.

John inwardly sighed. So maybe Frances had a pretty valid reason to dislike him. 

Once again, John wondered what he was doing.

John was broken from his thoughts by a pointed cough. He turned to see that Hamilton had pulled out a stack of papers.

“You have to fill these out.” Hamilton placed them on the table and held a blue pen out for John to take. “Here.”

John took the pen, sitting down and grabbing the papers, beginning to fill them out. 

However, John could barely focus on what he was supposed to be signing, much too distracted by Hamilton— his incessant pacing and general presence.

“Can you stop that?” John snapped, practically throwing his pen down, turning around in his chair to look at Hamilton. “It’s distracting.”

Hamilton at least had good sense to look contrite. “Sorry.”

However, it seemed that Hamilton had an inability to be still, as John kept noticing that Hamilton would glance around, pull his phone out, then put it back, over and over again.

A part of John wanted to snap at him again. The other part forced him to focus on his papers. After all, he hadn’t exactly made the best impression on Hamilton and wasn’t intentionally trying to make it a worse one.

Finally, John had finished signing the papers and pushed them away with an air of relief. _Thank god._

Hamilton smiled, straightening the pile and placing them in the black messenger bag he’d brought with him.

“Thank you, Mr. Laurens.” Hamilton stood up straighter and nodded. “It was nice meeting you. Take care of Frances.”

John froze. “What? Wait, aren’t you Frances’ social worker? Don’t you need to check up on us?”

Hamilton shook his head, but he didn’t seem to be faking his upset, he seemed genuinely mad about it. John wasn’t sure if that made it better.

“Yes, I am, but you’re her legal guardian.” Hamilton sighed. “It’s a closed case now. It would be unprofessional if I checked up on you.”

John felt his stomach drop. “Oh.”

Hamilton shrugged, opening the door. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Good day.” 

With that, he left the apartment, the door closing behind him with a click. John ran a hand through his hair.

“Shit.” He stumbled over to the couch, squeezing his eyes shut and ignoring the buzzing of his phone.

“Are you okay?” John startled, turning to see Frances standing awkwardly in the doorway, a frown on her face.

“Yeah.” John sat up, despite the pounding in his head. “I’m fine. So…”

Frances narrowed her eyes at him. “ ‘So’ what?” She raised an eyebrow, and, for a moment, John felt as if he was looking at himself.

“Nothing.” John shook his head. “Nothing. Anyways, do you want food?”

Before he had even finished speaking, Frances was shaking her head. “I’m not hungry.”

John nodded, only a little offended, although it wasn’t as if he had a real right to be. After all, despite their biological ties, they were practically strangers. He couldn’t exactly blame Frances for not wanting to eat with him.

John watched as Frances turned on her heel and marched off, a door slamming shut with a bang. He groaned loudly.

This was going to be fun.

That night, when John finally mustered the courage to look at his phone, he almost dropped it out of surprise at the sheer _number_ of texts and calls he’d missed.

Six calls from Lafayette, two calls and fourteen texts from Dolley, and fifteen texts from Peggy. He’d also gotten a call from Hamilton, who left a voicemail telling him that he’d forgotten to mention Frances’ belongings and so would call him later.

John pulled up Dolley’s contact first, as she was already texting him again.

_Dolley: bitch is she here_

_hello???_

_You: Yes she is_

_chill_

_Dolley: JOHN_

_HOW’D IT GO_

_TELL ME_

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

_You: I’m pretty sure she hates me_

_Dolley: what makes you think that_

_You: She won’t even look at me_

_And when she does_

_well if looks could kill…_

_Dolley: H A_

_good luck then_

John didn’t respond to that, just thinking about how much he needed the good luck wish. For what must’ve been the hundredth time that day, he wondered what the actual _fuck_ he’d been thinking, agreeing to take Frances in.

However, before John could start screaming, his phone started ringing, revealing that Lafayette was calling him. Without even thinking about it, John accepted the call.

“What the hell, John?” Lafayette practically screeched. John sighed, resigning himself to listening to a screeching lecture.

“You texted Dolley before me? So rude, John. I’m your best friend, I take precedence over your co-worker. Jesus. Anyways, what happened?”

John laughed dryly. “Hello, to you too, Gilbert. And it went… I don’t know.” John ran a hand through his hair. Why was articulating his thoughts so damn hard?

It wasn’t like John had ever been good at it in the first place— he preferred to use his fists— but this was somehow harder than normal.

“Are you okay?” Lafayette’s voice grew soft. “John?”

John groaned. “I don’t know.” He wanted to drink, to get drunk, but he couldn’t exactly do that with a minor in the house and the high chance that John might break his hand, again, punching a wall.

Unconsciously, John flexed his hand, the memories of _that night_ flooding through his mind. Thankfully, Lafayette began to talk again, stopping John from being able to dwell on the memories he wished he didn’t have.

“Do you want me to come over, John?” Lafayette asked, and John could hear the distant sound of jangling keys.

He was hit with a pang of disgust at himself. He was a grown man, he shouldn’t need someone to talk him down from doing something stupid.

“No—” John shook his head resolutely, although there was no one around to see it. “No, it’s fine.”

Lafayette hummed disbelievingly. “Okay, then.” There was silence until Lafayette sighed loudly. “John, it wouldn’t kill you to allow me to help you. This is a lot for anyone to take in.”

John curled his hands into fists. “Uh huh. Look, I gotta go. Bye.”

“John—”

John hung up, tossing his phone to the other end of his bed, burying his face in his pillow and letting out a soul shattering groan.

Unfortunately, before he could get it all out, there was a slow knock on his bedroom door. For a moment, John wondered who it was before he remembered that he didn’t live alone anymore.

Begrudgingly, John stood up, opening his bedroom door, revealing Frances standing on the other side, holding a toothbrush tightly.

“I… uh… where’s the bathroom?” she stared at the floor.

John swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Uh, the door next to the closet beside your bedroom.” 

Frances nodded and turned around on her heel, disappearing out of sight without another word.

John let his shoulders drop, hurrying into the kitchen and grabbing a mini bottle of wine. It was just wine, it wasn’t like he was drinking vodka.

He was fine. 

John scurried back to his room, collapsing in bed and raising the bottle to his lips, grabbing at his phone with the other hand. His phone that had a message displayed on the home screen.

He nearly dropped the bottle when he saw who left the message.

_Patsy._

John set the bottle aside and unlocked his phone. 

_Patsy: Hey, Jack._

_I’m gonna be in Philly next Monday. How does brunch sound? At the City Tavern?_

John glanced at his door, thinking about the girl that was somewhere in his apartment. He supposed it was better that he tell Patsy about that sooner rather than later.

_You: Sounds good_

John watched as Patsy typed, for some reason inexplicably worried that she somehow knew that John had something important to say.

_Patsy: See you then!_

John dropped back onto his bed. 

_Shit._

The next Monday, Frances sat in John Laurens’ car— she refused to call him her father. He wasn’t in any way that mattered— as he drove her to her new school.

To make things worse, they were already in the middle of the first semester, when most people didn’t start a new school, so all of the friend groups had been implemented or made already.

She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be in Philadelphia, with a man she’d never even met and who was apparently her father.

God, she wanted to go home to London, or even to Charleston. She wanted her _mom._

Frances forcibly blinked away her tears. She was not going to cry in front of Laurens. God knew how the man would react.

She dug her nails into her arm, pulling her mom’s old high school hoodie tighter around herself, wondering if she could envelope herself in it.

The car pulled to a stop in front of a high school, the words _Montpelier High School_ engraved on the front under a large bell. 

Frances swallowed, pulling her schedule out of her backpack with shaking fingers. She wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready… 

“Do… uh… do you want me to walk you in?” Laurens asked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and staring out the window.

Frances rolled her eyes. She was _fourteen,_ not four. She could walk herself to her classes just fine.

“It’s fine,” she mumbled. 

Laurens nodded. “Okay. I’ll… uh… I’ll pick you up at three thirty. You have my number, right?”

Frances nodded, shoving her phone in her bag. “I do. I’ll call you if I need anything.” She practically threw open the car door. Sure, she might not have wanted to go to this school, but anything was better than drowning in the sheer awkwardness in the car. “Bye.”

She jumped out, watching as Laurens drove off, effectively leaving her alone in a new environment. Damnit, she should’ve just let him tell her where to go.

Frances straightened her shoulders and walked into the school, past the room that was apparently the office, and heading to her first period class. 

_Biology with B. Franklin, Room 1706_

Thankfully, by the time the bell rang, Frances had skidded into the classroom, collapsing into an empty seat in the back next to a blonde haired girl.

“Ah.” Mr. Franklin looked at Frances over his glasses. “You must be Frances Laurens. Come up and introduce yourself.”

“It’s Manning,” Frances snapped under her breath. Laurens was _not_ her dad, she wasn’t a Laurens, she was a Manning.

“Umm… hi.” Frances waved awkwardly once she made it to the front of the classroom. “I’m Frances _Manning,_ and I just moved here from Charleston.” She swayed. “So, yeah.”

Frances nodded and hurried back to her seat, slumping down low and pushing away the scream building at the back of her throat.

“You okay?” The girl next to her whispered, raising an eyebrow. “You look a little pale.”

Frances shrugged. “I’m fine.” Except she wasn’t, but this stranger didn’t need to know that.

The girl looked unconvinced, but she didn’t press. “Okay. Well, welcome. I’m Susan R— _Lewis.”_

Frances raised her eyebrows at the girl’s amendment of her last name but didn’t push it. She didn’t want to be pushed either, after all.

Frances held out her hand. “I’m Frances, as you probably heard. Nice to meet you.”

Susan took her hand, her grip firm. “Nice to meet you too.”

They let go and both turned to Franklin, who was flipping through a book. From the corner of her eye, she could see Susan looking at her.

She turned and smiled. Susan smiled back, turning away.

Frances hoped that she’d made a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! I’m sorry that I’m the literal worst at updating. I’ll try to get the next chapter out sooner. Also, I just wanted to say: thank you for the comments and kudos! I really appreciate it and it’s a great motivation to write.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you for the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	3. In Which John Partakes in the Most Awkward Brunch Ever and There’s a Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> (And, self plug, if you feel so inclined, please check me out on Tumblr at @lessnearthesun . I’d really appreciate it!)

John practically slammed his foot over the pedal as soon as Frances was out of the car, desperate to be anywhere besides that god awful school, where he was stuck looking at Frances’ dejected and sad face.

God, barely a week and he was already the shittiest father ever.

Great.

John rolled his shoulders and sped out of the school’s parking lot, tapping his fingers in rhythm with the low hum of the radio, his mind going crazy.

God, Patsy was going to be so unbelievably pissed. But it wasn’t like John had knowingly kept this information from her.

John sighed and glanced at his phone when he pulled to a stop light, Patsy’s contact blinking across the screen.

“Shit, fuck,” John muttered, accepting the call with great reluctance, putting it on speaker and continuing to drive.

“John, hi,” Patsy greeted cheerfully, and John once again wondered how she could be so peppy when it wasn’t even nine in the morning. 

“Hi, Patsy,” John responded, trying to keep his voice level as he wondered— because he was apparently trying to torture himself— what her voice would sound like when she told him the news. “How… um… hi.”

Patsy’s low laugh carried over the line and John dug his nail into his thumb. “Anyways,” Patsy began, “I know I said brunch, but my meeting was moved up.” She grumbled something under her breath about _incompetent dickheads,_ and John bit his lip to hold in his laugh. “How about in twenty minutes? Green Line Cafe?”

“Yeah, sure,” John sighed, turning lanes quickly and preparing to make a U-turn. “My shift doesn’t start until ten thirty.”

“Great. See you in twenty.” The line went dead and John wanted to scream. He wondered how Frances was doing and resisted the urge to text her and see how she was doing.

_She doesn’t want to talk to you, anyways._

Which, unfortunately, was very, very true.

John slumped down in a chair at the Green Line Cafe, for once early. He tapped his finger against his phone’s power button, trying to calm the anxiety that was tying his stomach into uncomfortable knots.

“Ah, you’re here!” came Patsy’s lilted alto, and John glanced up in time to watch her sit down across from John, crossing her ankles and taking her sunglasses off.

“Yup.” John pumped his fist pathetically, smiling wide as Patsy rolled her eyes, the corners of her glossed lips turning up only slightly.

“So, update me on John,” Patsy said, intertwining her fingers on the table top, seemingly unaware of the sobering affect her words had on John.

“Right.” John’s eyes dropped to the table, and he unconsciously began picking at his cuticles. “Look, Patsy, I need to tell you something.”

Against his will, John’s eyes flitted up just in time to see Patsy tilt her head to the side. “What is it?” Her eyes widened only slightly. “Did… did something happen?”

John sighed. “Something like that.” He breathed in deeply. “I have a kid,” he blurted out before he could talk himself out of it.

Patsy’s eyes practically bulged out of her head and she opened her mouth to speak, thankfully, for John’s sake, being cut off by the waitress.

“Hi, how are you? Now, what can I get you to drink?” she pulled out a notepad.

Patsy shot John a scathing look and John physically curled into himself. “Do you have alcohol?” Patsy asked, an edge to her voice that wasn’t there before becoming startlingly apparent.

The waitress shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, no. We don’t, actually.”

Patsy’s hand twitched slightly and she nodded. “Okay, then I’ll have a cappuccino and a plain glazed donut.”

The waitress nodded absently, scribbling it fine and turning to John. “And you, sir?”

“A plain black coffee and an egg and cheese sandwich, please,” he mumbled, almost wishing the waitress would stay longer. However, after scribbling their drinks down, she was gone.

As soon as she’d left, Patsy turned to look at John, obviously irate. “You have a what?” she spat out, her hands curled into fists.

“Okay, I phrased that wrong,” John admitted quietly, trying, in vain, to calm his racing heart. “You remember Martha Manning?”

Patsy nodded. “Yes, but what…” She trailed off, her mouth left gaping open for a few moments. “John, don’t tell me…”

“Yeah.” John rubbed his eyes. “Look, I didn’t know until a few weeks ago! She died and, in her will, she left the kid to me. Apparently, I’m listed as the father on the birth certificate.”

Patsy rolled her eyes. “Jesus, John.” She rubbed her temples. “How could you be so spectacularly stupid? Did you…” She glanced around, lowering her voice as she spoke. “Did you use protection?” She quickly turned her head to survey the cafe, as if making sure no one heard her.

John resisted the urge to groan. Patsy, ever the perfect, proper southern lady. “She said she was on the pill,” he grumbled, immediately being hit with the desire to slap his past self.

Patsy pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “Oh, John.” John almost flinched at the sheer _disappointment_ in him that her tone conveyed. “How could you’ve been so utterly stupid?”

“I don’t fucking know,” John spat, digging his nails into the heel of his hand. “I don’t have a fucking clue.” He slammed his head on the table. “Oh, fuck, I have a kid.”

Patsy raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you do.” She sighed loudly, leaning back in her chair and squeezing her eyes shut tight. “Okay, okay, so who else knows?”

John reluctantly met Patsy’s eyes. “Me, obviously, a few friends of mine, and the social worker… Oh, and the kid, obviously.”

Patsy slowly nodded her head, raising a hand as if to run it through her hair before dropping it and checking her watch. If John squinted, he could see her clench her jaw together.

“What is taking them so long?” she hissed, glancing around the cafe before turning her attention back to John. “You know dad is _not_ going to be pleased.”

John sighed. “Yeah, I kinda figured.” He idly fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt. “Look, I’ll… I’ll tell him in a week.” John wrung out his hands. “I just don’t want to disappoint him, you know? I just… I feel like he has all these expectations…” 

Immediately, by the way Patsy’s spine straightened, John knew he’d said the wrong thing. What he’d said he couldn’t tell exactly, but for the split second Patsy’s face was unguarded, John knew he’d messed up.

“Right,” Patsy responded, her voice clipped. “A week.”

“Yup.” John swallowed heavily, hating himself for knowing that he wasn’t going to follow through. But he just _couldn’t._ Thankfully, at that moment, the waitress returned with their food, allowing John to focus on eating and not his guilt.

Frances groaned loudly in the school hallway. About three weeks had passed since her first day of school, and she had never been so thankful that it was finally thanksgiving break.

The only good part of school was Susan, who was also new that year. As it happened, the two of them shared a few classes and a lunch, so, before Frances knew it, they were spending most of their time together.

However, that didn’t change the annoying fact that Frances was stuck living with a man she didn’t like— could barely stand, actually.

Granted, that wasn’t entirely his fault, but Frances really didn’t care. He either tried too hard or not at all, and all Frances wanted was her _mom._

It was all bullshit. Half the time, Frances wanted to punch the guy. Especially at that moment.

“What the fuck,” she hissed, slamming her locker door with a bang. Beside her, Susan practically jumped out of her skin, shooting Frances an annoyed glare.

“Jesus, woman, what the hell?” Frances simply groaned and handed Susan the phone, Laurens’ new text displayed on the screen.

_Since it’s almost thanksgiving I just wanted to know if you’d be okay with us going to my friend Dolley’s for the day_

Susan simply gave the phone a confused look as she handed Frances back the phone. “What kind of name is _Dolley?”_ She shook her head before smiling sadly. “You okay?”

Frances suddenly felt the tears pushing up against her eyes, blinking rapidly to push them away. “Yeah,” she croaked out, handing the phone back to Susan as it buzzed. “Can… can you read it?”

Susan nodded. “Uh… he says, ‘unless you have any other traditions. I can just not go’.”

Frances rolled her eyes, resting her forehead against her locker door for just a minute. “Ugh. Just tell him it’s fine, that we’ll go. Please.”

Susan clicked her tongue, typing out a response.

It didn’t matter anyway. Laurens wasn’t her mom, and Frances and her mom’s traditions were _theirs._ They weren’t there for John fucking Laurens to interfere with.

“He sent back a thumbs up,” Susan said, tossing the phone back to Frances and grabbing her backpack. “Now come on, the bell for lunch C is going to ring in ten minutes, and no way am I missing fish sticks.”

Frances rolled her eyes but hurried after Susan, a reluctant smile pulling at her lips. 

At least— for that moment, anyways— everything felt okay.

John fidgeted in his car, the fact that today he was either going to be forced to tell his father the truth or confess to Patsy that he hadn’t yet weighing on him. Not to mention that he was introducing Frances to his literal best friends.

 _Thanksgiving, my ass,_ John snorted to himself, causing Frances to shoot him a weird look from where she was typing on her phone in the passenger seat.

John’s humor abruptly died and he turned to focus on the road, trying to distract himself from the stifling awkwardness of the car.

However, after a few minutes, Frances spoke up. “So, who’s gonna be there?”

John cleared his throat. “It’s kinda a Friendsgiving thing. But coworkers too?” He shook his head. “Anyways, I know that my friends Peggy and Lafayette are gonna be there. Laf might bring his girlfriend. Everyone else…” John shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Dolley kinda makes friends with everyone, so there could be ten people there or fifty.”

Frances snorted behind her hand. “Really? _Fifty_ people?”

John nodded. “Yeah.” He huffed. “A weird year, let me tell you.”

Frances rolled her eyes, a small smile on her face, which abruptly died as soon as they pulled up to Dolley’s apartment building. 

John breathed out through his nose, showing the security guard his ID then parking. Frances climbed out of the car after him, putting her phone in her back pocket and shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as John grabbed the bottle of whiskey he’d brought and locked the car.

“Okay, lets go.” Frances nodded and hurried after him.

As soon as they arrived on Dolley’s floor, John regretted doing this. He could _hear_ the noise from the elevator and he realized that Frances looked vaguely terrified.

Before it could lose his nerve, John turned to Frances. “Hey, kid, want to go home?” He gestured to the elevator doors, which were still open.

Immediately, something hard grew in Frances’ eyes. “Your apartment is _not_ my home. And, no, let’s go.”

She strided ahead and John sighed, pushing open Dolley’s door. Immediately, Dolley herself appeared, smiling crookedly.

“John!” She smiled, grabbing his arm. “We had started to think you weren’t coming. What the hell?”

John cleared his throat pointedly and Frances waved awkwardly. “Hi.”

Dolley just blankly stared for a few moments before grinning and grabbing Frances’ hand. “Hello, you must be Frances. I’m Dolley, hello, hello, your Johnny boy here’s favorite conversation topic.”

“Because he has no life,” Lafayette interjected, walking over to the small group and placing an arm around John’s shoulder. “You should know that about him, kid.”

“I had a life once,” John grumbled, and Dolley let out a loud cackle. 

“Whatever allows you to sleep at night. Anyways, Frances, come, I’ll introduce you to my sister, Anna. She’s only a couple years older than you…”

John watched them go before turning to Lafayette and smacking his arm. “Thanks for that.”

Lafayette smiled wide, bowing his head. “You’re very welcome.”

John rolled his eyes. “So, who else is here that I know?”

Lafayette glanced around. “Peggy’s on her way with her sister and a few friends of her sisters, my Adri is already here, and… uh… yeah, that’s it.”

John huffed, shoving the bottle of whiskey into Lafayette’s hands. “Here. Can you pour me a cup?”

Lafayette nodded. “Off we go, then!”

Frances had already decided she hated this party.

As it happened, Dolley’s sister who was ‘only a couple years older than her’ was actually twenty and apparently had better things to do than hang out with a fourteen year old.

So, Frances found herself sitting on the deck beside a guy who was smoking something that Frances figured was weed.

She glanced around. She had seen some teens, but hadn’t had the courage to approach them. Finally, Frances sighed, pulling out her phone, seeing a text from Susan.

_Susan: hows ‘dolley’s’ party_

_You: shitty_

_Susan: yikes_

_…_

_why?_

Frances rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

_You: welllllllll_

_i know literally no one, it’s loud, and i've seen at least five people smoking weed_

_Susan: isn’t it an office party????_

_You: idk man_

_the only person i know is laurens but i don’t want to talk to him_

_he had the audacity to call my apartment his home_

_Susan: im sorry about that_

_i could always go over there and bust you out_

Frances snorted.

_You: you probably could no one is even knocking_

_Susan: okay i asked my mom she said no_

_You: :(_

_Susan: BUT_

_she said if your dad allows it you can come over later_

_*wait guardian not dad_

_sorry_

Frances sighed.

_You: it’s fine dw_

_and i’ll definitely ask him_

_Susan: :))))))))_

John leaned up against the counter, just watching everyone mingle, enjoying the quiet the kitchen provided, before the tranquility was broken by Peggy, a girl with dark brown hair trailing behind her.

“John, sorry I’m late.” Peggy shrugged sheepishly, pressing her shoulder to his. “This is my sister, Eliza.”

John furrowed his brows. “The… the social worker one?”

Eliza nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Laurens. I was so glad to hear you took in Frances.” Eliza smiled sweetly, but, before John could respond, the kitchen door opened again, revealing— of _all_ people— Alexander Hamilton.

“Hey, Betsey—” Hamilton froze. “Ah, hello, Mr. Laurens.”

John shot Peggy a scathing look. “Hi, Mr. Hamilton.” John tried to push away the anxious knot building in his stomach at the sight of Hamilton.

Hamilton waved awkwardly. “Yeah. Look, Betsey, I’ll be back.”

But, before Hamilton could leave, Eliza grabbed his arm. “Alex.” She frowned and he sighed, turning around and patting her shoulder. 

The room was utterly silent for a moment before the damn door opened again, revealing Frances this time.

“Laurens—” She froze. “Miss Schuyler? Mr. Hamilton.”

“Frances!” Eliza walked over to her and kissed her cheek. “How are you, dear?”

“Uh…” Frances glanced at John, who just shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Uh, Laurens, after this can I go to my friend’s?”

“Er—” John swallowed heavily, acutely aware that Eliza and Hamilton were both watching him very closely. “Who is gonna be there?”

Frances sighed. “Just my friend and her mom.”

“Okay, then.” John nodded. “As long as I can talk to the mom, go ahead.”

Frances smiled widely, looking as relieved as John felt. “Great! Thanks.” With one last bemused look at Eliza and Hamilton, she was gone.

The room was utterly silent, besides the loud noises coming from outside the room. Finally, Eliza broke the silence. 

“Good job, John, you’re getting it.” She raised her glass to him. “Parenting is hard.”

“Tell me about it,” John grumbled, flicking his wrist. However, before he could respond, his phone buzzed, and John glanced down at it, feeling the color drain from his face.

_Dad._

Oh, shit.

John practically threw himself out of the room, locking himself in Dolley’s— thankfully— vacant bathroom, accepting the call with clammy hands.

“Jack, hello.” His father cleared his throat. “What’s that noise?”

“I’m at a party,” John mumbled, hating himself for the shame building deep within his stomach. He was thirty one years old, goddamnit. He shouldn’t feel ashamed of socializing.

His father hummed disapprovingly, but didn’t say anything. “Well, Jack, as you know, Christmas if only a month away. I just wanted to know if you were bringing… a…” He coughed. “Another person with you. So I can arrange rooms.”

John winced. “I am actually.” He breathed in deeply. “But it’s not what you think.”

Despite not being able to see him, John could imagine the furrow in his father’s brow; the same furrow John had inherited. “What do you mean?”

“I—” John rested his head on the counter, counting down from three. _Three… two… one…_ “I have a daughter. I’m bringing her.”

He could hear his father’s breath hitch in his throat. “You have a _what now?”_

“Yeah.” John dug his nails into his arm. “Do you remember my high school girlfriend, Martha Manning?”

“Yes, I do. I was very sad to hear about her recent passing and the daughter she…” John could hear the exact moment it clicked for Henry. “...left behind.”

A moment of silence. “Jack, tell me…” Henry trailed off and John had never in his whole life felt like more of a disappointment. Not when he first came out, not when he dropped out of law school, not that _awful,_ awful night. No, those moments were nothing compared to this.

“I didn’t know,” John protested weakly, but he knew it was a flimsy excuse. “I got called after Martha died. She… uh… apparently I’m the father and she wanted me to watch over Frances.”

Henry breathed out deeply on the other line. “I’ll call you later, Jack.” The phone line went dead and John just allowed his phone to slip from his fingers, falling to the floor.

God, he’d fucked up so, so bad.

Somehow, God only knew how, John had stumbled outside to the empty deck. He rested his head in his hands and just groaned.

“You okay?” John nearly jumped out of his skin, looking up to see that Mr. Hamilton was standing in the corner, an eyebrow raised. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” John gritted out. “And besides, it’s not your goddamn business.” Immediately, John winced. What was with him and being literally the rudest person in front of that guy?

Something in Hamilton’s eyes hardened. “My bad. Sorry.” He rolled his eyes and took a sip from his beer, closing his eyes as he did.

John watched him for a few more seconds before he looked away, feeling guilty. “Sorry,” he said softly.

Hamilton shrugged. And that was the end of it apparently.

John sighed, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers. “Look, I’m sorry for being rude.” _So much for that being the end of it._

Hamilton groaned loudly, finally opening his eyes to meet John’s. “Look, it’s fine.” He blew out a breath. 

“But it’s not,” John protested, despite the fact that Hamilton had _explicitly said_ it was fine. 

“Are you gonna keep apologizing?” Hamilton asked, straightening up and moving to sit in the chair beside John. “Because if you are, stop while you’re ahead. It’s already annoying.”

John dropped his head. “Right.” 

There was silence for a few moments before Hamilton nudged him, holding out a cigarette. “Do you want one?”

John shook his head. “No, it’s… it’s fine.”

Hamilton nodded and put it between his lips instead, lighting it and squeezing his eyes shut tight. 

“You know it’s bad for you, right?” John asked, like it wasn’t the most obvious thing ever.

Hamilton shrugged. “We all die one day. Why not do what you want now?” He took another drag of the cigarette and John frowned.

“Uh… I dunno, so you don’t die early?” Despite John’s grave tone, Hamilton laughed loudly.

John shot him a glare and Hamilton raised his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry.” John waited for a few seconds for Hamilton to elaborate, to explain what had been so funny, but he didn’t.

And so, instead of starting a conversation, John just sighed and trudged into the house to find Frances and go.

As it turned out, Susan and her mom lived in the same building as Dolley, so John only had to walk Frances to the elevator, where a teen girl and her mom were standing.

“Frances!” the teen girl— probably Susan, John figured— practically squealed, running up to Frances and enveloping her in her arms.

After hugging Frances, she glanced at John disapprovingly. 

“You must be Mr. Laurens,” Susan’s mom said, smiling and taking John’s hand. “I’m Maria. We live just four floors up, apartment number two thirty one.”

“Right.” John tapped his hands against his thighs. “Well, have fun and be safe.” He waved to Frances and swirled around to go home.

God, why was his life such a mess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And I’m so, so sorry that this chapter took so long to get out. I’d like to say the next one won’t take as long, but truthfully I don’t know. I’ll try to get it out sooner. Also, I just wanted to say: thank you so much for the comments and kudos! I really appreciate it and it’s a great motivation to write. Also! A guest left a comment last time and I accidentally spammed it while trying to respond, so if you’re reading this, thank you for the comment! (I’m sorry I accidentally spammed it.)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The next one should be up sometime this week or the next. Also, if you’ve come from my other work, that one is not abandoned! And, self plug, if you feel so inclined, please check me out on Tumblr at @lessnearthesun . I’d really appreciate it!  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you for reading, and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


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